


a work in progress

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Matchmaking, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 02:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21236675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Pahanin, travel author and blogger, tries his hand at writing a romance.





	a work in progress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gileonnen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/gifts).

Pahanin loves words. He even thinks in words — oh, well, it sounds downright stupid when you put it like _that_, but more like; he thinks in endless streams of writing, the structural stuff, like the perfect placement of a comma, or the weightier pause of a period. The pleasant surprise of an accidental alliteration. The gut-punch taunt of a bad pun. He can think in vertical columns of pinyin or horizontal rows of arabic. It’s fun. Like putting together a gun or taking apart a piece of armor.

He’s not much a storyteller though. Never did manage more than a few paragraphs before veering off into a different topic. He’s more of a stanza type of guy. Short and sweet. There’s lots to write about, after all. Can’t spend all that time describing a single flower or one single story. Plenty of other writers for that.

More often than not, Pahanin finds his inspiration in places and things that happen in those places. (Cephalopods too, but honestly that’s more of a side fetish and personal joke.) But very rarely does he like writing about actual _people_. Even made up people. If anyone cares to ask, Pahanin would say his writing’s a full blown character all on its own, and it’s been more than enough to keep him busy.

He’s not a people-writer. Not usually. So it comes as a mild surprise when he is, inexplicably, inspired by his fireteam.

And Pahanin doesn’t mean inspired like… _encouraged_ to be a better teammate, be stronger or faster or smarter for the sake of the team. That’s what a fireteam is supposed to do, what the Vanguard likes to preach. Pahanin believes it wholeheartedly, but what he does with Praedyth and Kabr has always been a divorced from his writings, aside from the few class jokes.

It’s just — every so often Pahanin gets these glimpses of Kabr or Praedyth, and he feels a flood of words bubbling up like one of Venus’ spring geysers, spilling inside his mind.

Right now, it’s the way Kabr looks down at Praedyth — the slight tilt of his head, those lowered eyelashes — and how Praedyth’s gaze is a steady upwards look in return, his weight shifting to turn towards Kabr. Kabr’s attention on Praedyth is complete, absolute. His focus is nowhere else, even when Pahanin is grinning in the back corner, and surely Kabr must’ve noticed.

Pahanin wants to pick up a keyboard or a pen. Anything. Can’t fake that kind of spontaneous inspiration.

When he writes in his journal, it’s about how Venus stinks, the thick air, and the tomato soup rivers. Not a single thing about Kabr or Praedyth, but the words flow all the same.

“You know,” Pahanin says, drawing Praedyth to the side when he gets the chance, “I think Kabr has a thing for you.”

Praedyth’s brow shoots up. “Really now.”

“Believe me, the way he looks at you — “

“Same way he looks at everyone else. Like his ghost forgot to teach him how to smile when he rezzed.”

“Hah! Good one. No, but I’m serious. He _listens_ to you. He’s always interrupting_ me._”

“Because,” Praedyth says, sighing, “You talk too much.”

“That may be, that may be,” Pahanin says, thoughtful. “But don’t you hear it? His voice gets a mite softer with you around.” He elbows Praedyth. “Real sweet-like.”

Praedyth’s expression is getting more amused, but also more annoyed. “I think it’s only because he has to raise his voice with you.”

Pahanin scoffs, the sound muted inside the ruined Ishtar Library, but it catches Kabr’s attention.

“What’re you guys whispering about?” Kabr asks, coming around a shelf. He’s got a canteen in his hand, the condensation from the humidity already beading down the sides.

“You, actually,” Praedyth says with a side-eye towards Pahanin.

Kabr frowns. “If my performance during the strike wasn’t up to par or if there’s something I should be aware of, I’d like to know.”

“Nah, nothing like that. Just straight up gossip,” Pahanin says, “And shittalk, if you wanna start something.”

“Oh. In that case,” Kabr says, taking a swig from the canteen, “Fuck you. A vandal with one arm and a leg can shoot straighter than you, with half the noise.”

Praedyth bursts out laughing while Pahanin mimes taking a shot through the heart. The corner of Kabr’s mouth hitches up, and Pahanin catches Kabr staring after Praedyth, as if it wasn’t enough to hear his laughter, that his eyes needed trace the sound as well as the crinkle at his eyes and the curve of his mouth.

Kabr then hands Praedyth the canteen, and Praedyth drinks.

Pahanin isn’t one to rub his hands in apparent devious plotting, but it’s a near thing.

Funny enough, it’s Praedyth who speaks up first once they’ve both shooed off Kabr to scout the rest of the library.

“You make him joke,” Praedyth says, handing Pahanin the canteen. “Nothing short of a miracle, if you ask me.”

Pahanin glances at him, taking the water. With his free hand, he clasps Praedyth’s shoulder, giving it a rough shake. Silly Warlock. It’s so obvious. “So can you, if you try.”

Praedyth tilts his head. Pahanin lifts the canteen to his mouth, the water lukewarm but sweet, and he can imagine Praedyth’s wry smile. Pahanin thinks of another line for his journal.

“Maybe,” says Praedyth.

* * *

“You ever thought about asking Praedyth out?”

Kabr full on stops mid-stride to stare at him. “I’m guessing not out on a mission. You mean a _date_-date.”

“Kabr, who says ‘let’s go out’ and means a mission? Yes, a date. Like dinner. A movie. A couples’ pottery class. Not like Doubles in Crucible or a patrol.”

Pahanin gestures to the soupy Venus field for emphasis. They are out on a patrol, just the two of them and a bunch of touchy Vex. It’s humid, and it smells like eggs gone bad. It’s not a very intimate date spot.

“You sure Doubles isn’t romantic?” Kabr says after a thoughtful pause.

“... Point taken,” Pahanin eventually concedes when he can’t come up with a very convincing argument. Titans sure make hard debate partners. He switches up his scout rifle for an SMG. “But Crimson Doubles is ages from now. Don’t make Praedyth wait that long.”

There are crackles sounding in their audio feed. Could be Vex interference, could be Kabr sighing too hard into his mic.

“Pahanin, what are you doing.”

“Watching Praedyth sigh dreamily in your direction every time you have your back turned away.”

Kabr says, depressingly unshaken, “He does not.”

“Oh yeah? How would you know?”

“My 360-view HUD and camera, which you installed for me. Seven months ago.”

Pahanin wags a finger. “Hah! So you’ve been checking!”

“Yes, that’s what you’re supposed to do with rear-facing cameras,” Kabr replies. His head turns this way and that, demonstrating. “It’s been helpful when I’m not taking point. The infrared’s been the most ideal here. Thank you.”

“Oh, no problem. Infrared, you say? I should get to installing a better color setting—_hey_. Hey, don’t change the subject.”

“My ruse,” Kabr says dryly.

It’s kinda funny to hear Kabr try to dodge his way around a subject when Pahanin’s used to seeing him tackle his problems straight on. Pahanin isn’t sure what about Praedyth would make Kabr nervous. Big guy like him could just pick up Praedyth and toss him over the Tower if he rejected Kabr. Which Praedyth wouldn’t.

Pahanin can picture it clearly in his mind’s eye — Kabr asking Praedyth for dinner, Praedyth wanting to clarify if it’s just a meal or a dinner-date. The whole shebang. It’d be a dinner too. Because Kabr, while practical, would probably love the dual functionality of eating for biological needs _and_ for romantic purposes.

(Ugh. That’s a good Titan joke in general. Pahanin’ll have to save that for the journal.)

“Kabr,” he says, tactfully as he can, “Are you _scared?_”

The line of Kabr’s rifle dips by a smidge. “I don’t want to disturb the fireteam dynamic,” he says, and it sounds like the truth but also like a lie. “What about you?”

Honestly, Pahanin’s touched Kabr’s thought about him. “Me? I’m betting on you guys to get together. My cards? Dealt. My chips? In. So hit it.”

Kabr’s gloved hand hits against the side of his helmet, like he wants to rub his temples. “You’ve already spoken to Praedyth about this.”

“Planted a seed, my mountain-shouldered friend. Only a seed.”

Kabr mutters, almost under his breath, “I need some time to think.”

Pahanin shakes his head. Maybe he ought to convince Praedyth to ask Kabr out instead, but Praedyth can usually talk circles around Pahanin, which makes it slightly less fun than trying to badger Kabr. “You Titans are all the same! So much caution. You guys gotta learn to be a little more opportunistic.”

Kabr’s next words cut like a snap of lightning, quick and hot. “And you Hunters should butt out of things you only half understand.”

Pahanin draws back, not expecting Kabr’s tone. Annoyance, maybe. Not anger. He straightens, taking a few steps away to give him space. Message received, loud and clear.

They lasp into stormy silence, the Venus clouds following suit with a smattering of heavy acidic raindrops. Pahanin shoots a few Vex stragglers from afar, wasting good SMG ammo, but hey. Some people need a good sulk.

He tries to think of another line to write and comes up empty like his energy ammo.

They walk for a bit, but eventually Kabr’s footsteps break from their slower pace. His hand brushes at Pahanin’s elbow, a faint tap that could’ve been just the Venus foliage getting in the way, but Pahanin knows it’s him.

“So how romantic is a patrol to you?” Kabr asks.

“Very unromantic. Do _not_ take Praedyth on a patrol date. I’ll die of embarrassment and neither one of you will be there to rez me.”

There’s a crackle of static again.

“Noted.”

* * *

They are touching each other now, Praedyth and Kabr. Not like a friendly shoulder tap or a punch to the arm either. They’re definitely flirty touches. A shoulder bump, a staying hand at the elbow, a heck of a lot of leaning into each other. It’s a sweet budding romance and Pahanin’s doing his best to not let it wilt away like the world’s saddest spirit bloom.

In the mean time, he can pat himself on the back for a job well done. It looks like Kabr and Praedyth are _finally_ getting somewhere, instead of flinging longing gazes and secret smiles at each other. Still haven’t asked each other out yet, but Pahanin’s still proud. Baby steps.

He’s also writing a million words per minute in his head, on his notepad, in his dreams. The words flow and Pahanin’s pen trails after it.

He writes witty lines about Venus’ scenery, and snappy quick Hunter advice in his journal. The few lines he’s read aloud has made Praedyth snicker and even Kabr spares him a bark of laughter, and it’s as good as a front page City Times review.

Pahanin still loves the places they explore on Venus, everything from the dark Ishtar Underground to the bright colorful swamps of the Waking Ruins, but some moments can’t compare to watching Praedyth trail after Kabr, and Pahanin thinks of white methane waves lapping over towering violet biodomes. Kabr casting a Ward next to Praedyth makes him want to write lines about the night sky and a single bright star in the middle of it.

Sometimes he’ll stay up past his watch to write in his journal. Praedyth will complain privately over their comms, and Kabr will watch him with judgemental eyes. They always exchange looks with each other, tentative half-smiles or smirks when they think Pahanin isn’t looking. One time, Praedyth puts his hand over Kabr’s knee to point out a new configuration on his armor, and the image sears itself into Pahanin’s mind like a thousand perfect words.

When the two of them both gang up on him to go to sleep, Pahanin goes to bed easy.

* * *

Pahanin blinks awake in sweat, skin hot and damp in the humid air. He sits up, not liking how his shirt peels away from his back, but his racing mind is still trying to pick away at the fringes of sleep.

He is intensely bothered by the lingering dream of Praedyth’s mouth at his neck and Kabr’s hands on his thighs. He’s sure he’s imagined more, but he can’t quite remember all of it and he isn’t sure if he really wants to.

There’s a notepad in his lap, black screen on standby. He lifts it, fingers setting off the touchscreen. Incomprehensible text flashes in the dark — _crystal lakes foiled silver-purple beneath a sunrise, octopuses, too many legs or just enough?_

Underneath the notepad, forming a tent between his legs, he’s got a hard-on the size of every stupid erotica novel he’s scorned.

“Hm,” muses Pahanin. “Interesting.”

* * *

A few days later, Pahanin makes the announcement.

“I’m gonna try my hand at romance,” he says.

Praedyth and Kabr both look at him, very quick.

Pahanin feels feverish, though his Ghost reports a normal temperature. Besides, what’s a fever to a Guardian? Nothing. A solar-user’s usual Tuesday.

“A romance story,” he clarifies, though judging from their frozen positions, they are doubting his skill and determination. “I’m gonna write a romance novel. Maybe a vignette.”

Praedyth’s frown is probably as deep as Kabr’s at this point. “Have you slept? At all?”

“Nope! The writing bug bit me. Stayed up these past few nights drafting the outline. You wanna see? Ghost,” he says, waving at it, “Send Draft version 4.7.”

“It’s fifty-three pages,” Praedyth says, head nodding like he’s actually trying to read it all through his HUD. After a moment, he gives up. “You wrote fifty-three pages? Since when?”

More like triple that length, on account of the drafts. Pahanin only beams. Or maybe he yawns. Either way, he’s very smug about it.

He must’ve stumbled a bit, trying to get his footing on the rocky cliffs of the Shores. Praedyth catches his arm and Kabr uses a trick of static Arc to bounce the nerves of Pahanin’s foot from taking another misstep.

“I gotta admit, you two were a bit of an inspiration. The slow burn. The will-they, won’t-they plot,” Pahanin says pointedly, looking between them.

“Oh, not this again,” Kabr mutters.

“Wait, are the two main characters squids?” Praedyth says, even quieter but more out of disbelief than anything else.

“And I’m _hoping_ to find out the ending, because it’s been _really_ frustrating, _Kabr_. Maybe you can help me out,” Pahanin presses, and practically wrenches his neck out of its socket, throwing many significant looks towards Praedyth. Even with his helmet on, it should be very clear who and what he’s referring too. “Because these two characters, you see, are having a difficult time confessing, after months of—”

Kabr transmats his own helmet off. His hair is disheveled, the wind makes a bigger a mess of it.

And Pahanin can see that Kabr is _pissed_. He can taste the unraveling Arc energy on his tongue, but he’s determined to go on, “Months of _pining_—”

The last thing Pahanin expects is a beheading. Who even does that, anyway? Kabr has always struck him as the rational, talking type, but now Kabr’s flinging off the clasps of Pahanin’s helmet, and Pahanin can only stare as it goes dropping into the Shores of Time.

“Kabr—”

Kabr leans in, yanking him by the hood of his cloak, and kisses him, Arc sparks and all.

Pahanin thinks it must all be a mistake, a huge mistake and Kabr must’ve tripped forward onto his mouth or something, but a broad hand goes to the back of his neck in a gentle hold and that tells enough as it is. Pahanin goes ramrod straight, feeling Praedyth’s hand on his arm, squeezing tight.

_Oh shit._

“No, no, no, no,” says Pahanin, very emphatically against Kabr’s very insistent and warm mouth. He pulls away with a small hitch in his breath. The flicker-quick look of hurt Kabr makes his gut drop. But Pahanin’s still clinging on to the dwindling hope that it should’ve been Praedyth’s kiss, not his. “That’s not how this was supposed to happen.”

He glances anxiously at Praedyth. Without realizing it, his hands are fisted into the grooves of Kabr’s armor. He forces himself to let go. It’s harder than he thinks it should be.

Beside him, Praedyth has gone still. His helmet disappears, flickering away, and the expression on his face isn’t something Pahanin has ever seen from him before — flushed, maybe upset, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners, just like when he grins at Kabr.

“You don’t know how hard I’ve been trying to get Kabr to ask you out,” Pahanin says, miserable.

With that same smile in his eyes, Praedyth says, “Double plot twist,” and kisses him.

The words running rampant through Pahanin’s head grind to a halt.

Kabr’s laughter rumbles in his ears. _So Praedyth makes him laugh too, _Pahanin thinks, delirious and delighted even through his confusion. He shuts his eyes as Kabr’s hand plays with the strands of his hair. This can’t be real.

“This’ll never get published,” he mumbles against Praedyth’s mouth. “These are bad plot twists.”

“I guess that’s why you’re the writer,” Praedyth sighs, pulling back.

“Damn right,” Pahanin says, a little shaky with Praedyth’s warmth still lingering at his lips, and Kabr’s hand falls to rest at his waist to steady him again.

It’s almost dreamlike, standing at the edge of the Shores with his fireteam. Pahanin tries to draw up some pretty words so that he can jolt down the moment later in his journal. But he’s never been a people-centric kind of writer.

He can’t describe this with any of the words and languages he knows.

“Sorry about your erotic literature career,” Kabr murmurs, in that low sweet-sounding voice he uses with Praedyth sometimes. He’s reading the draft with his Ghost.

“It’s fine,” Pahanin says, mortified. Not about the fiction, he’ll never be ashamed about cephalopods. He’s just embarrassed by the whole situation now. _Damn_, that patrol with Kabr _was_ a date. “It would’ve never worked out. Too many tentacles to keep track of.”

They head back to their ship, brainstorming new endings to Pahanin’s squid romance.

* * *

Later, when Pahanin is tapping an endless rhythm on his journal with his pen, he catches sight of Praedyth and Kabr, leaning into each other, exchanging a few exploring kisses.

The words come back to him in waves, right in the stillness of his ship. He thinks he’s got it now — that his inspirations are less about places or people, but the feeling he gets when he sees them, however far he happens to be.

“Pahanin? Get over here.”

“One sec, one sec,” Pahanin says, scribbling down fresh new lines while Kabr and Praedyth wait.

When he’s done, he tosses the journal back in his inventory and puts himself close between them.


End file.
